


Workplace relations never covered this scenario

by Pidgey



Series: Second Impressions [3]
Category: Justified
Genre: Art is fed up, Boyd is a jerk, Gen, I can't do plot, M/M, Someone got kidnapped again, a scary jerk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-05-02
Packaged: 2018-10-26 22:18:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10795866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pidgey/pseuds/Pidgey
Summary: Art never had these problems before. Sometimes he wonders who he ticked off that this is now his life.





	1. Chapter 1

Art looks up as someone knocks on his door to let them know Boyd Crowder has been brought in. Art exits the Harlan sheriff’s office and sees Boyd being led by the arm with a broad grin of his face. Art feels irritation bubble under his skin but only motions for the men to take Boyd to the interrogation room. He looks around the room. Rachel is staring after Boyd with a worried look on her face. Art raises an eyebrow at her but she merely shakes her head tightly and continues walking.

 

When Art enters the room, Boyd is relaxed, sitting with his hands clasped on the desk, looking forever like a villain about to say ‘we meet again’. Art seats himself across from Boyd and stares him down.

 

“Why Chief Mullen, we do have to stop meeting like this.” Boyd drawls.

 

Art chuckles despite himself, “You’re not nearly as clever as you think you are. You know that Crowder?”

 

Boyd curls a lip into an artful and disbelieving smirk, “Is that what you dragged me in here to tell me? It’s not often the Lexington marshals set up in Little ol’ Harlan county to talk to a not-very-clever man such as myself.”

 

“Trust me. It’s not for pleasure’s sake. It seems one of our marshals has disappeared.” He watches Boyd carefully. He’s not expecting much; the man’s poker face is practically infamous at this point. He’s rewarded when Boyd’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly and he tenses. The Chief as no idea how to read into that reaction though.

 

 After a pregnant moment, the Chief continues, “Deputy Givens was helping the locals organise an asset forfeiture down in Harlan county and he just disappeared, just like that. That was Thursday evening. I asked the locals and you know what Raylan told them? ‘Just got some business down in Harlan before I head back’. Now, seeing as how you seem to think Harlan is ‘your’ town and seeing how you and Raylan can’t seem to go a day without either trying to kill each other or someone else I thought this would be a good place to start.”

 

“You mean to tell me your marshal has been missing for _forty-eight-hours,”_ Boyd asks incredulously, “and you decided to interrogate an _innocent_ Harlan citizen who merely has a passing association with Raylan?”

 

“Is that what the kids are calling it these days? Plus, you are as much an innocent citizen as I am a showgirl.” Art scoffs.

 

“You’re wasting my _valuable_ time here.” Boyd intones. The older man eyes him suspiciously.

 

“Well gee, I am sorry about that. You could just tell me when you last saw Raylan and I might find it in my heart to let you out of here.”

 

“Charge me or let me go. It’s not doing Raylan any good keepin’ me here. I do not have the information you’re after.” Boyd says levelly. Art has to raise an eyebrow at that.

 

“Boyd Crowder, one way or the other you are going to be the death of Raylan Givens. You know that right?” Art says with tired resignation. He isn’t prepared for the look of utter despair Crowder sends his way, like the world has just crumbled around him. He quickly schools his expression and Art could almost convince himself he’d imagined the look. Almost.

 

“Good day Chief Mullen. I do hope you find your man.” Boyd smiles, shoves his hands in his trouser pockets and strides out of the office, carefree as you please. 

* * *

 

Several hours later they’d finally managed to track Raylan to a shitty abandoned house in one of the Hollers currently occupied by Sam West, a shitkicker fairly low on the marshal service’s list of wanted felons and most likely his two best buds turned accomplices, Kyle Brown and a cousin by the name of Mark West. Leave it to Raylan to spot a fugitive when he was just supposed to be helping the locals organise an asset forfeiture.

 

Currently, several police cars and the marshals surrounded the building. Art is manning the megaphone, his negotiations hampered by the fact that everything he says is answered with only a “Fuck you!” and/or a volley of gunfire. The house has no phone line and Art is at the end of his patience. Rachel is clearly antsy and Art doesn’t blame her, Raylan has been missing since Thursday and somehow neither trusts the hospitality of his captures. He is discussing the next move with the officers behind him when they are interrupted by shouting from inside the house.

 

“Samuel West.” Came a shout, louder than the rest. Art feels his stomach drop and turns to see Boyd Crowder. Standing casual as you please inside the police line and staring at the house. He was dressed finely, as if he’d taken his time before getting here. A black vest over his white shirt, hands tucked into the pockets of close fitting black pants and a look of mild irritation on his face as if he was facing some mild inconvenience rather than walking in the middle of a stand-off.

 

“What the fuck is he doing here?” Art snaps, “Get him out of here before he fucks something up and gets Raylan killed!”

 

The officers begin to scramble into action but stop when Boyd casually walks forward into the no man’s land of the stand-off.

 

“Sam, Sam, Sam. I knew your daddy you know? Not the brightest man but he sure as shit knew his place. Knew who to respect and how to avoid pissing people off. How not to get into no-win situations.” Boyd calls.

 

“But that is exactly the type of situation you find yourselves in. You are in my town son.” His tone becomes dark and dangerous.

“My town has rules. I know you are aware of them. And you have broken rule number one. What are you expecting to come from this? You are going to have your little standoff here; I will not stand in the way of that. You will escape or you won’t, you will die or you won’t. Not really any of my business.” He calls matter-of-factly with a shrug. He strolls leisurely forward a few more steps.

“But if Raylan Givens doesn’t walk out that door right this second I promise you that dying in a _hail_ of gunfire at the hands of the Marshals will be the _most_ pleasant outcome you can hope for.” He shouts.

The silence hangs thick in the air. For a long moment nothing happens. Art glances at the other Marshals and sees his own hesitance mirrored in their faces. Across the yard Boyd shrugs and turns as if to leave.

“Wait! Boyd. Jesus!” Comes a shout from inside. The door swings open and with a shove Raylan comes stumbling out, looking confused and blinking against the bright sunlight. His hands were bound in front of him, dried blood coats one side of his face and stains the front of his light blue button up. He is wearing the same clothes he had left the office in days before except his hat was nowhere to be seen. Voices shout and swear at him from inside the house and Raylan frowns. He takes a few shaky steps forward before his gaze zeros in on Boyd and his path becomes much more determined. As he gets near Boyd reaches down and pulls a knife from his boot. When he stands with it Raylan reels back. Boyd steps towards him, the hand not holding the knife held placatingly. He is murmuring softly but too quietly for anyone of either side of the standoff to hear. Boyd gently takes Raylan’s hands gently and cuts through his bonds while Raylan grins at him broadly.

Boyd sheathes the knife, pulls one of Raylan’s arms of his shoulder and wraps an arm around the taller man’s waist. The marshal leans heavily on Boyd, seeming to sag with relief, or maybe just exhaustion. Boyd leads Raylan away, past the line of lawmen who all seem to stunned by the bizarre tableau to do more than watch as the pair walked by. Rachel reacts first, calling for the paramedics. Her shout shakes Art out of it and he raises his megaphone again.

“Alright boys, now that that is over you seem to have lost your leverage. Now let’s end this just as nice and peacefully alright?”

Boyd guides Raylan over to the ambulance and sit’s him down gently in the back. The paramedic immediately sets to work checking Raylan’s head wound. Raylan grins at Boyd too broadly again.

“You saved me Boyd.” Raylan drawls. “My knight in shining… my…” He frowns.

“What’s wrong with him?” Boyd addresses the paramedic brusquely. Raylan all but pouts at that.

“Concussion probably, maybe drugs. He’ll need a scan and bloodwork at the hospital to be sure.”

Boyd nods tightly before turning his attention back to Raylan.

The stand-off ends pretty quickly without a hostage. The trio heading straight to jail, pissed off but resigned. Art looks around at the slowly dispersing law enforcement. He can hear Raylan pissing and moaning about not wanting to go to hospital again when he wasn’t even shot this time, as well as Boyd’s softer voice, gently chiding and bemused. Boyd doesn’t appear to notice Art watching them. They’re sitting shoulder to shoulder and knee to knee on the gurney in the back of the ambulance.

Eventually, Boyd gets shooed away by the paramedics as they pack Raylan up in the ambulance. Art strides up shoulder to shoulder with Boyd and watches the ambulance go, kicking up dirt in its trail. Boyd doesn’t move, and stands stock still, hands in his pockets and eyes fixed on the vehicle as it disappears down the dirt road. A careful act-nonchalance masking real fear and worry.

“Those boys say they only nabbed Raylan this morning.” Art says calmly.

“That so?” Boyd hmmns.

“So that got me wonderin’ ‘where on earth was Raylan for the day and a half since he went missing?’” Art fixes him with a glare.

“Well, that is quite the mystery now ain’t it?” Art wants to shake him but instead lets the silence hang for a second.

“Now I know you aren’t going to be truthful about what you would’ve done to those boys or what they _thought_ you were going to do to them but tell me this, what is rule number one in Harlan? So I don’t step on any toes.” Art scoffs crossing his arms.

“Well I thought that would be quite obvious from the confrontation you just witnessed Chief Mullen,” Boyd meets Art’s eyes and leans in close, “no one touches Raylan Givens.”

Boyd turns on his heel to walk away, presumably towards his vehicle. Art watches the criminal go with a thoughtful expression for a long moment. The remaining lawmen in his periphery closing up the scene and moving on. Rachel comes to stand by Art, watching Boyd go too and trailed by Tim.

Art lets out a sigh that deflates him entirely and raises a hand to his temple, “Why do I get the feeling I am the last person in the world to realise what’s going on between those two?”

 

“See Rachel, told you he wasn’t completely clueless. Knew you’d get it eventually sir. All it took was those two giving up on all subtlety in the world.” Tim smirks. Rachel purses her lips torn between amused and horribly worried.

 

“Well not another goddamn word about it. I want to be able to claim some kind of plausible deniability when this all blows up in my face.” Art calls over his shoulder as he leaves the marshals behind. All he wanted right now was to go home, put some distance between himself and the whole goddamn day.


	2. Chapter 2

Vasquez swings into Art’s office, shutting the door and methodically closing the blinds. The chief sighs, one hundred percent certain he knows what folder is tucked under the lawyer’s arm.

“The West shootout?” Art asks with resignation.

“The West shootout.” Vasquez says tersely. So much for Art’s quiet afternoon of paperwork.

Vasquez drops the file onto Art’s desk brusquely. The older man flicks through it but it’s mostly for show. He knows the details back and forth, anticipating the shit-storm it would bring.

“Boyd Crowder just happened to be passing by? Decided out of the goodness of his heart to appeal to West using his family friendship with Samuel’s father and it worked?” Vasquez asks in a tone that implies he would have found it more believable if Boyd had said he cast a magic spell and was actually a unicorn.

Art chuckles, “Can you believe that bullshit? That statement reads like Crowder is some kind of local hero and everyone bows to him out of respect rather than fear.”

Vasquez is unamused, “Goddammit Art, I’m not an idiot. I can read between the lines here.”

“And just what are you reading? There’s nothing here that can implicate Crowder in West’s escape. You know his operation has become more covert lately. The slippery bastard wants us to think he’s clean. All we have is some vague threats against an escapee who was holding his old friend hostage.”

“An old friend? That’s what you’re claiming?” Vasquez seethes, hands on his hips as he stares Art down.

“Why don’t you just say what you came here to say.” Art says darkly.

“Do you believe Raylan Givens is in a relationship with Boyd Crowder?” Vasquez tilts his head with agitation.

“You know, I hadn’t asked” Art snaps, “I don’t make a habit of interrogating my co-workers about their private lives.”

“And I’m sure they appreciate that. Especially when they’re sleeping with potentially the largest organised crime king pin in the state.” Vasquez responds coolly. 

Art scrubs a hand over his face, “I don’t know what you want from me.”

“A little cooperation would be nice! I like Givens, I know you do too, I know everyone in this building does. He is a charming bastard. But are you seriously ready to throw your career, and no doubt half of your department’s under the bus for him?” Vasquez gestures towards the closed blinds. They’ve both been at this long enough to know secrets like this get out and anyone who covers for Raylan is implicated too if something blows up-literally or figuratively.

“I don’t believe that is what I am doing. Raylan may be a dick-brained idiot but he isn’t corrupt. He is still trying to put Boyd away, as fucked up as that is. I’ve had to tell him to back off on several occasions because we just didn’t have enough to pin anything on Crowder.” Art shakes his head incredulously.

“Look, he’s a good marshal and a good man but what if he has a change of heart? I’m not saying he is going to go dark side and turn up on our radar with swastika tattoos and a bazooka but what about the day he decides ‘hey, I’d rather my boyfriend not go to prison’ or ‘maybe I’ll wait to hand over this evidence until after our goddamn anniversary next week’? What happens when we have to throw out a case because the arresting officer is sleeping with the boss or enemy of the guy who got arrested!?” Vasquez paces and gestures angrily.

Art sighs defeated, “What the hell do you want me to do David? Fire him?”

“That would be the smart thing, but somewhat difficult to do without actually accusing him of anything. Which I don’t have to tell you would be about the same as putting him straight in jail or, at very best, blacklisting him from law enforcement. The best thing you can do for Raylan, and for your department, is transfer him as far away from Harlan as you can.”

“He wouldn’t go.”

“Then I think your hands are tied Art.” Vasquez looks sympathetic. 

“What if…” Art pauses, “what if Boyd really is out of it?”

The other man scoffs, “Do you honestly believe that?”

“Not for a second but humour me. What if he was?”

“Then it would be a happy fucking fairy-tale. There’s no law against dating an ex-con. If anything came up against Boyd we’d be in the same position we are now, but if Boyd was really out of it and stays out of it and you kept Givens away from anything related to Crowder’s family and previous known associates then Raylan and Boyd could have a commitment ceremony in the town square and no one could say a word.” 

“And what a happy world it would be.” Art sighs. 

“Talk to him Art. Before he leads himself straight to hell dick first.” Vasquez says acidly before storming out of the office, slamming the door behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

Art glances at the clock again. It feels like an eternity since Raylan entered the office in silence and sat down in silence, all without looking up or saying a word. In reality, it’s been about 3 minutes. Art is prepared to wait, let Raylan say what he has to say in his own time. 

Raylan had been very quiet all day, paperwork getting done at a snail’s pace. Every now and then Art would catch him thousand yard staring into middle space. When Raylan walks in at the end of the day like a man for the gallows it confirms what Art already knew, Raylan had made a decision, hopefully the right one.

“Art. I… I know what I gotta do. You were right. Get me outta here.” Raylan says numbly. He looks up and meets Art’s eyes, lips pressed into a hard line. 

“I’m sorry son. I know you don’t believe it but I am sorry.” Art stands and puts his hand on Raylan’s shoulder. He walks over to the filing cabinet, pulls out a fax and hands it to Raylan.

“There is an opening I’ve been sitting on, hoping you’d come round. The New Mexico office has one deputy on maternity leave and one retiring about a month from now leaving them two men down. They’d be mighty keen for an experienced marshal. Think of it this way-you didn’t want to come back, now you can get out of Kentucky again.” Art consoles with a half-hearted smile. When Raylan doesn’t respond and only stares blankly at the printout Art sighs. Art opens his desk drawer and pulls out a bottle of bourbon; he gets the feeling that that is something he will be doing a lot less of once Raylan leaves. He pours a very generous glass and hands it to the obviously depressed cowboy. Art pours himself a drink and leans so he is half sitting on the desk.

“At the risk of you rethinking, can I ask what changed your mind?”

“We can’t keep going. I’ve known it for a while. We all do-you, Tim, Rachel-we all knew it was doomed, I just had to wake up to it.” Raylan sit’s back and drains half his glass. 

“What are you gonna tell him?” 

“Nothin’. Can you think of anything I could say that he would take well?” Raylan scoffs.

“No, but then, I’m not you.” Art points out.

“And ain’t you lucky?” Raylan drains half his drink in one go. Art is torn between topping him up, it feels like one of those days after all, and denying him anymore. He would have no idea what to do with a drunk cowboy crying over his self-inflicted heartbreak.

“If I tell him. If I go there, I won’t leave again. I know it, I knew it the first time I left. Got in the car and drove until I couldn’t anymore.” Raylan says absently. Art decides fuck it, his shift ends in 20 minutes anyway, and refills the man’s glass.

“You and him? Back then? Must’ve been tough. Harlan wasn’t exactly a liberal minded place.”

Raylan laughs darkly, “And it is now? No, we weren’t anything back then. I wanted us to be. He didn’t, far as I knew. Maybe he did… I don’t know anymore. I knew though, that night, if I went there I woulda told him, I woulda stayed if he asked me. If I stayed I woulda turned into Arlo. I can’t… I couldn’t…”

Raylan’s voice has grown thick with emotion and Art has no idea what to do but put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. This feels like a story that’s never been told aloud. One that Raylan needs to tell. Raylan tosses his drink back like it’s water rather neat bourbon and Art follows suit. Art takes the glass, pours another, much more conservative drink and holds it out. At the rate Raylan is going he might end up sleeping right there on Art’s office couch.

“Boyd Crowder,” Art contemplates, returning to his desk chair and leaning back contemplating, “I just don’t get it. I mean even if I swung that way I think I wouldn’t get it.”

“Hell, I swing that way and I don’t get it either.” Raylan laughs bitterly, “Gun to my head I couldn’t explain it to you.”

“Shit Raylan, don’t say that. Knowing Harlan and knowing Boyd that is a worryingly plausible scenario.”

Raylan smiles fondly into his bourbon.

“Nononono.” Art warns, sitting forward, “I don’t like that smile. Tell me you aren’t feeling warm fuzzies at the thought of a hostage situation where you have to explain why you love Crowder.”

“Woah Art! Who said anything about love? I know I sure as hell didn’t.” Raylan reels back.

“Then why the fuck are we drinking my good alcohol? You’re in love Givens. With a piece of shit who belongs in prison and we gotta send you away so you don’t get dragged in there with him. That’s the long and short of it. An’ I know it would take a man with pliers intent on pulling every single one of your teeth before you’d talk feelings but if I gotta deal with the reality of it you damn well better too.” Art points at Raylan with the hand clutching his drink. 

Raylan stares at the ground between his feet like it’s wronged him somehow. Art assumes they’ve entered the silent morose portion of the evening until Raylan murmurs softly, “You’re right. I do.”

For Raylan that’s as good as a shouted declaration from the rooftops. Art laughs emptily and leans back in his chair.

“Raylan you remember when I thought you sleepin’ with Ava was the worst trouble your man-whoring could get you into?”

Raylan raises an eyebrow.

“I’d give anything to go back to that.” He says wistfully. Raylan barks out a laugh at that.

 

“Now go home, an’ don’t you dare drive there. Shit could be a lot worse Raylan. I know it doesn’t seem like it right now but it could be, and it will get better you know.”

Raylan nods and stands with a dangerous wobble and starts to leave. He twists the door knob but pauses, “You know… This is the second time. Second time I’m running from Harlan to restart my life.”

Second time leaving Boyd, Raylan doesn’t say. But Art sees it in the dejected slump of his deputy’s shoulders.

“Hey, in twenty years’ time, if I’m still kicking and you want to do this all again give me a call. I’ll want front row seats.” Art grins.

Raylan smiles over his shoulder as he pulls open the door and walks out into the station.

“I’ll see you around Art.”

“Long as it’s not in Harlan County I hope so Raylan.”

The door swings shut and Art Mullen sits down and holds up his drink, contemplating the light passing through the dark liquid absentmindedly.

“Hope so.”

**Author's Note:**

> Art is one of my favourite characters. I hope I did him justice! Constructive criticism much appreciated. How the tone/voices etc? Does it suck donkey dick that I keep using virtually the same plot over and over?  
> Thanks for reading!


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